


Had Never Before Believed In Luck

by WearingWellies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety-induced vomiting, Canonical Character Death, Dragon Keeper!Draco, Fingering, Get Lucky Fest 2010, M/M, Slight Flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 11:12:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12863283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WearingWellies/pseuds/WearingWellies
Summary: Draco's life is in turmoil. His father is in prison, his mother has fled the country and the Manor is being used as the Death Eater HQ. The Dark Lord has forced the Mark upon him and has set him an impossible task. He never dreamed that a Weasley would be the key to getting out of this mess.





	Had Never Before Believed In Luck

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old piece of work from my LJ that is the NC-17 version of my PG-13 submission for the Get Lucky Fest 2010. I thought it deserved a new home!
> 
> Disclaimer: JK Rowling’s, not mine *sigh*

Draco splashed cold water on his face before reaching for his toothbrush, desperate to rid the all too familiar taste of bile from his tongue.

For nearly a month now, nearly everything that had passed his lips, with the exception of his morning cup of tea, had sat uncomfortably in his stomach before forcing its way back up again.

Even in his own home he felt totally alone; his father had been locked in Azkaban and his mother had fled to France, and had pleaded for Draco to come with her, but he knew she would be safer without him. Instead, in their place were Death Eaters, their mere presence defiling the Manor. Draco wanted nothing more than to kick and scream, lash out at them all and demand they leave that very second, only the Dark Lord would most certainly punish him for it, and the resulting pain of His Cruciatus was something Draco wished never to experience again.

He turned on his shower and slowly undressed, pausing in front of the mirror. He had always had a lean gracefulness about him, however, now his bones stuck out obscenely in sharp, hard angles. He spread his fingers across his ribcage and it made him feel sick to see his digits fall into the gaps between his ribs. He felt a sneer of disgust cross his face before climbing into the scalding spray.

As the steam engulfed him, Draco’s mind once again wandered to the task that had been set for him by _Voldemort_. Even the voice in his head spat the name with all the hatred and repulsion it could muster. Four weeks and five days ago, in a ceremony the details of which Draco never wanted to disclose to anyone, he had taken the Dark Mark. He had wanted to run away, hide and never return, but Malfoy pride and a fear for his Mother’s safety had made him stand tall and take it. One of the implications of being inducted into the ranks of the Death Eaters was to carry out the whims of the Dark Lord. His particular whim for Draco was the need for dragons. Lots of them. When He had instructed Draco, a twisted smile adorned his hideous features, or as close to a smile as Serpent-face could achieve, finding hilarious irony in his request. Since that day, all Draco could think about was where the fuck was he going to get dragons? He was sure the large dark circles under his eyes were a dead giveaway of how little sleep he was getting due to the stress of it all.

Draco dropped his towel and pulled on his bathrobe before sinking into his leather armchair by the fire. He picked up the Prophet, ignoring the reports of the war; there was enough evidence of it in his own home without him having to read speculation. Not really paying attention to the words, Draco simply skimmed the headlines until he came across one that caught his eye. It was a small column, less than a quarter of a page, but it may just have been the answer to his current problem.

****

**Volunteers Wanted  
**   
**Positions available on the Romanian Longhorn Dragon Reservation**  
**Applicants must be hard working, able to work well under guidance, and**  
**to relocate to Romania for the duration of the position.**

Draco had to admit to himself that it seemed too good to be true. Not only did this present him with the opportunity to be within range of a large number of dragons, it would also get him out of the country, away from the ever-present reminder of the war.

Without leaving much time to think, he jumped up and ran to his desk. He pulled out a roll of parchment, quill poised to write out a CV that would shed a favourable light upon him. He had written ‘Draco’ and was about to write ‘Malfoy’ when he paused. No-one, even in Romania, would employ a Malfoy at the moment. The war may not have reached further than the British Isles, but it was certain the Malfoy name was being dragged through the mud worldwide. He decided to do as his mother – use the Black family name. It felt totally alien to write ‘Draco Black’, but it was a feeling he could live with if it allowed him to leave.

Within five minutes, he had created an entirely new identity for himself. He was a Beauxbatons’ school leaver with an aptitude for Potions and Charms, with NEWTs reflecting that, plus an interest in Quidditch and Magical Creatures, including assisting with the Abraxans. Nothing he included failed to have an element of the truth to it as there was always the possibility that he could be tripped up and found out. Even though he had never actually worked with Abraxans, he had read about them and concluded they could be no more difficult to handle than his own stroppy mare he’d backed himself.

He summonsed Binx, one of the few remaining house elves at the Manor, and got her to send the letter by Post Owl. All he had to do now was sit back, wait and worry.

*

It was a long eleven days of avoiding the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord in his room before Draco heard anything from the Romanian Longhorn Dragon Reservation, and the added anticipation had added to his queasiness, making even his morning cup of tea a chore to keep down. An owl flew onto his windowsill and Draco tentatively opened it, allowing the bird into his room. It expectantly held out its leg, and Draco took the letter, his eyes noticing the Romanian Longhorn Dragon Reservation crest and his heart skipped a beat. Before he could toss an owl treat at the bird, it had taken off through the window. He broke the seal, hands shaking as he pulled out the letter.

After scanning down the letter, Draco felt the urge to dance around his room. He had been invited out to Romania for a week to see how he worked then pending that, he may be invited to stay for a longer period. He upended the envelope and a metal disc embossed with the RLDR crest fell into his hand. He read the letter further, and was instructed that the disc was a Portkey, and it would activate in two days time. Now all Draco had to do was let _Voldemort know_ , and that thought had him rushing to the toilet, retching bile into the bowl.

After composing himself, Draco pulled on his robes and ventured from the sanctuary of his room. On his way to what was the ballroom and was now currently used as the Headquarters, Draco walked with his head tall, looking every inch the lord of the manor he really was, regardless of how untrue that felt.

As he approached the doors to the ballroom, two senior Death Eaters stepped forward, stopping Draco. “I need to see the Dark Lord. I have progressed on my mission and He asked to be kept informed.”

Draco resisted the urge to shudder as they looked him over, before one opened the door and disappeared inside, spine already curving into a bow. He returned, indicating towards the open door with his head and Draco walked through it, feigning courage and certainty in his steps. As he approached Voldemort, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head in a submission he most certainly didn’t feel, waiting for the Dark Lord to acknowledge his presence.

“Ah, young Malfoy...I have been told that you are not dining with your comrades.” Draco felt bile rising at the back of his throat with the sound of Voldemort’s voice.

“Forgive me, but I have been busy working on my mission.” Draco answered, still looking at the floor. In truth, he had no desire to be in the presence of such people and preferred to take his meals in his bedroom, even if it meant all he did was just push food around his plate.

“Ah, yes...your mission...” Voldemort hissed and Draco’s flesh crawled. “How have you advanced?”

“I have managed to secure a placement on a dragon Reserve and will be able to work more effectively there. I leave in two days, but must first get supplies.” Draco didn’t have to look up to see the sneer on Voldemort’s face.

“Very well. Instruct Rookwood that you are to be given the appropriate funds, with a limit of five hundred Galleons. Dismissed.” Draco rose and turned, keeping his walking pace slow and steady, fighting the urge to sprint out of the ballroom and put as great a distance between himself and Voldemort as he possibly could.

Getting money out of Rookwood, even on the order of the Dark Lord, was a chore. It was almost as if it was his personally, rather than the money for Voldemort’s regime. He had managed to get the total amount, knowing that dragon hide clothing was expensive. He also had to persuade Rookwood to give him ten Galleons in Muggle money as he had separate agenda all his own.

*

Dressed in slate-grey trousers and a linen shirt, Draco had ventured into the nearest Muggle town to the High Street. Now all he had to do is figure out which shop he needed. He decided the best plan of action was a very un-Malfoyish plan – ask for help. He took a deep breath and approached a lady who appeared to be in her fifties and asked, “Excuse me, but where would I be able to buy erm...cosmetics?”

“Cosmetics? Erm...Boots are probably your best bet. It’s just up there next to the cafe.” She answered with a friendly smile. Draco gave her an appreciative smile and headed off up the High Street.

As he entered Boots, he was surprised to find they didn’t sell boots at all. Instead, there was a wealth of perfumes and aisles labelled with names he’d never heard of, such as vitamin supplements and electricals. Browsing the aisles, he finally found the one he was looking for – hair colour. He had heard some of the Muggle-born and half-blood girls discussing hair colours and he thought changing his hair colour was probably the best way for him to disguise his identity as his white-blonde hair was almost as much of a marker for him being a Malfoy as red hair was for Weasleys.

He had never imagined that there was such an array of hair colouring products available. Permanent, semi-permanent, six wash, twelve wash. No ammonia. Different brands. Different colours. Draco pulled at his own platinum locks. He knew that any other colour than a shade of blonde would make him completely washed out and vampire-esque. And Merlin forbid he became a redhead. It was bad enough he was related to the Weasleys through his mother’s family, no matter how distantly, it was another thing to have their ghastly hair colour.

He picked up two warm, almost honey-colour blondes, one permanent and one semi-permanent, assessing the differences between the two. His biggest choice was whether or not he should colour his hair every week, or every four-to-six weeks. In the end he went with a permanent medium champagne blonde, mainly because it had ‘champagne’ in the title, and he thought it was the closest he was going to get to the bubbly for a long time. He decided to get two boxes, just in case, but still had one other thing to buy, yet wasn’t even sure it truly existed.

He looked around for a shop assistant. He found one in the shape of a girl around his age, maybe a little older and found himself stumbling in the description of what he was after. “I need a product that erm...covers up things.” He finished.

“Condoms?” She offered.

“Would that cover a tattoo?” Draco asked as he had never heard of them, so it may have been exactly what he was looking for.

“Well, if your tattoo is on your...ahem.” She said, indicting to his crotch.

“On my...? No! It’s not _there_! I have a job interview and need to cover up a tattoo, and I was wondering if there was a product for that.” Draco almost felt his cheeks starting to turn a little red as after all, it wasn’t every day you discussed having a tattooed penis with anyone, let alone a complete stranger. He couldn’t imagine the pain one would have to go through to tattoo their penis, and the thought made him want to cross his legs.

“Oh! You’ll almost certainly want a concealer. I don’t know how well it’d cover the tattoo, but it’s worth a go. Just follow me and I’ll show you where it is.”

Five minutes later, Draco left the shop eighteen pounds poorer. He knew he still had other supplies to buy in Diagon Alley, however, it had been a long time since he had felt quite so free, so instead of continuing on his shopping trip, he entered the cafe and ordered a latte and a biscuit, savouring the taste of the first food he had been able to keep down in a long time.

*

Draco packed his trunk with everything he needed, including the items he had bought in Diagon Alley. There was a lot of dragon hide in the form of a pair of trousers, boots, gloves and a vest, along with several soft cotton tees, some short-sleeved and some long-sleeved, the latter mainly to hide his Dark Mark if he hadn’t covered it up with the concealer. He had also included his favourite winter robe, gloves and hat as nights on the mountains would be cold. He straightened, pushing his damp, newly champagne blonde hair back from his forehead and sighed. It had felt wrong to remove the Malfoy crest from his trunk, along with his initials, replacing it with a dragon emblem Draco was particularly fond of. He made sure all of his clothes for the following morning were ready, set his alarm to eight a.m. and climbed into bed, knowing that, as usual, he would get little sleep, only this time it was possibly more due to a nervous excitement than a fear for his family’s life.

Draco’s alarm sounded at eight a.m. and he decided he should probably get up and out of bed, even though he had been awake since half-past five. He dressed in a pair of chinos and a short-sleeved tee, then covered his Dark Mark with the concealer he had bought the previous day, careful to blend the edges to hide it almost perfectly. He had specifically bought a concealer that would withstand the rubbing of clothes and was also waterproof. He found it odd to see himself in the mirror with darker hair, even if he did think the colour suited him. Draco drank his morning cup of tea, glancing at the clock every few seconds, a nervous anticipation making him restless.

At nine forty-five, Draco pulled on a jumper, checked everything was tidy and that he had packed everything he needed then locked and heavily warded his room. There was no way in hell he was going to let the filthy Death Eaters take over his room, and the last ward he put up was a ward that could only be broken by its caster. It was technically dark magic, but it was also a family secret. He ran his hand over his dresser, not knowing when he would see it next, and remembered his Malfoy signet ring. He bit his lip as he took it off; he had not removed it since he was eleven. He put it inside one of the drawers in his dresser, nestled in his socks. He then shrunk his trunk and put it in his pocket, stowed his wand and held the Portkey coin tightly in his hand. A few seconds later he felt a familiar tug behind his navel and he was whisked away to Romania.

*

Draco landed with a stumble outside a wooden cabin and it took him a few seconds to gather his bearings. As he found his feet, he also looked up to see firstly a lot of trees, and secondly a well-built redhead leaning against one of said trees. Draco’s first thought was...well, he couldn’t remember. It was either “Oh, great...a Weasley,” or, “Oh, great...eye candy.” All he knew was neither thought bode well. The redhead walked towards him, a warm smile on his face.

He offered his hand to Draco whilst greeting him, “Hi, you must be Draco. I’m Charlie and I’ll also be your mentor whilst you’re here. How are you?” Draco accepted the proffered hand, noticing how rough Charlie’s hands were.

“I’m good, thank you. Yourself?”

“Just dandy, ta. Come with me and I’ll get you to sign the paperwork.”

In the office, Charlie introduced Draco to Dorina, a pleasant silver-haired Romanian woman who was effectively the Reserve’s secretary. Whilst Draco was reading through the contracts and liability waivers, Charlie made conversation.

“So you went to Beauxbatons? Parlez-vous Français?” Charlie asked, his accent decent but tainted, most probably due to his West Country upbringing.

“Oui. On m'a appris depuis que je suis tout jeune. Vous parlez bien?” Draco replied as he signed the documents.

“Eh...comme ci comme ça. My Romanian is better, and my Portuguese is somewhere in-between.” He sent Draco a friendly wink as he collected the paperwork before handing them to Dorina. “Right, I guess I should show you to your cabin.”

The walk through the sparse forest was filled with Charlie pointing out the people they passed, telling him which paths led where and other things that swam around Draco’s brain to the point he was sure he couldn’t actually remember a single thing Charlie had told him.

They came to a stop outside a cabin that was one of a row of seven, “And this is us.” Charlie began, opening the door. Draco was quite surprised to see the inside of the cabin. It had a spacious main room comprised of a sitting area and a kitchen/diner and four doors leading off it. “You will be sharing with me and Marcos, a dragon keeper from Portugal, basically because whilst you’re here if I’m working, you will be too. Through that door is the bathroom, that bedroom is Marcos’, that one is mine and yours is this one.” Charlie opened the door then stood aside to let Draco into his room. “So if you ever need anything, I’m just next door.” Charlie’s warm smile was back and Draco actually felt like he could at least tolerate this Weasley. “But just get yourself unpacked and I’ll make us some lunch.”

“Okay, thank you.” Draco gave a small smile back and Charlie headed off in the direction of the kitchen area.

Draco had finished unpacking and decided his room was actually rather pleasant, then joined Charlie for a delicious lamb stew with comfortable small-talk that included a brief over-view of what was expected of him in the upcoming week, including night watch, feeding and general mucking out. The only downside was Draco had been unable to finish more than a few mouthfuls of the stew before he felt queasy. He left his stew under the pretence of not long having had breakfast, which Charlie seemed happy to accept, given the three-hour time difference.

Charlie had explained that later in the afternoon he would put Draco through his paces a bit to see what kind of magical and physical abilities he had and if there was anything he needed to be taught. But first, they were going to have a game of exploding snap whilst Charlie let his stew go down and Draco willed his stomach to settle.

*

Draco was bent over almost double, one arm bracing him against a tree whilst he hurled foamy bile onto the leaf mulch by his feet. Sweat had dripped down his forehead and was stinging his eyes, his throat burned and abs ached, and his legs were shaky and threatening to give out at any minute. He had been running alongside Charlie for less than fifteen minutes before he had felt the all too familiar constriction of his oesophagus before he found himself in his current position.

Draco flinched when he felt a large hand rub his back; he was used to having to cope with this on his own. As Charlie rubbed soothing circles over Draco’s tense back he relaxed slightly, as much as was possible whilst vomiting. “Is there anything I can do for you?” Charlie asked tentatively.

Draco managed a quick, “No...” before another wave of nausea appeared. He hated to admit it, but Charlie’s hand was actually rather comforting.

Charlie had helped support him on the walk back to the cabin, and Draco had found himself blushing at the fuss Charlie was giving him. He had been alone in his home for several weeks, separated from his family and it felt nice to have someone caring for him. After a warm shower, Draco dressed in his pyjamas and warm robe and curled up in the armchair, then Charlie brought him over a cup of tea.

“I’m making lasagne for supper...would you like some?” He asked as Draco sipped his tea. It was a little sweeter than he usually took it, but it was welcomed nonetheless.

“Oh, no thanks. I still feel a little queasy. But thanks.” Draco was still feeling a little queasy, and he knew that if he attempted to eat a meal it would come straight back up again.

“No problem. Well, I’d best be getting back to making supper.”

Draco yawned before saying, “I actually think I’m going to retire to my room and call it a day.”

“Okay then. Well, we start tomorrow at eight a.m. so be ready and eat some breakfast. If you need anything, just let me know, and I hope you’re feeling better in the morning.” Draco nodded in appreciation before slinking into bed.

*

The rest of Draco’s week was pretty uneventful. The first couple of days they had basically just fed and mucked out the dragons, but on the fourth day, the arrival of a young male Swedish Short-Snout mixed things up a bit, especially when it meant Draco had landed head-first in a muddy pond, much to Charlie’s amusement. Another remarkable occurrence was Charlie walking from the shower to his bedroom in nothing but a towel wrapped round his waist. His impressive body was crisscrossed with scars and burns, as well as a striking dragon tattoo that covered nearly the whole of his back and curled around his side. A couple of times, their roommate Marcos had given Draco a knowing smile, which always prompted Draco’s cheeks to turn a shade darker for being caught, but also make him wonder about the nature of the relationship between the two men.

On his last day, Draco was reluctant to pack his trunk until he absolutely needed to. He had felt a certain liberation being away from the oppression of the Dark Lord, but also knew that if he returned now without completing his mission, he would be punished for it, and he shuddered at the prospect. He sat sulking at the table, nursing a mug of tea between his hands and Charlie sat in the chair next to him, putting his hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“Have you packed yet?” Charlie asked and Draco sighed. Charlie obviously couldn’t wait for Draco to leave.

“No, not yet...it won’t take me long, though.” Draco shrugged and Charlie patted him on the back.

“It’ll take you even less time, now. You have been invited to stay on for another six months, probably longer if you want. You’ve impressed me and my boss. Congrats.” Charlie smiled and winked then stole Draco’s tea, finishing it off. “You’ve got thirty minutes to get ready, we’re checking fences today.” Draco was so excited he almost couldn’t catch his breath. Another six months away from the war was almost too much to believe.

It had been another week before Charlie had started referring to Draco as ‘his little dragon’ to other keepers, and also when talking to Draco. There were many reasons Draco didn’t like that moniker, and aside from the fact he was actually taller than Charlie, it was the way it was said that made Draco feel like a younger brother, and people aren’t usually interested in their younger brothers. Hell, Charlie probably wasn’t even interested in men, Marcos aside.

Draco’s heart almost skipped a beat when one morning Charlie said to him with a wink, “So, my little dragon, you should go back to bed and get some sleep, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

“A long...? Aren’t you even going to buy me dinner first?” Draco asked affronted, a little shocked that Charlie would assume he could get him into bed that easily, and Charlie almost doubled over with laughter.

“Good one! Tonight is your first nightshift, so from eight till eight we will be stuck up on the side of a mountain in the cold and dark, and you’ll definitely need some sleep beforehand because it’s almost boring enough to drive you to the land of nod. Unless there are poachers hanging around, in which case it’ll be interesting.”

Charlie hadn’t been lying when he said it was cold up on the mountain. Draco was wearing several layers, including his favourite winter robe, but he was frozen. His feet had gone numb a while ago, and he was sure the tip of his nose was going to fall off.

“Come here...you’re trembling.” Charlie said as Draco sat huddled as close to the fire as he could get, his teeth chattering and shivering uncontrollably. He looked back at Charlie, who had opened his bearskin blanket. Draco bit his lip, trying to decide whether he was better off terribly cold or terribly, and probably uncomfortably, _hot_. Having made up his mind, he stood up and sat down next to Charlie, shuffling into the warmth of the bearskin and Charlie’s hard, yet surprisingly soft, body. Charlie slipped his arm around Draco’s shoulders, rubbing his arm vigorously to try and get the blood circulating in it again. “You’re freezing. You need some meat on your bones, Draco.” His tone halfway between teasing and seriousness.

“Not quite as much meat as you, though. Fatty.” Draco heard himself say before clamping his mouth shut in surprise and wishing he could suck the words back into his throat. That was until Charlie gave a bark of laughter that seemed to light up Draco’s world for the second it lasted.

“Yeah...alright.” Charlie’s other hand ruffled Draco’s hair, and instead of fussing over it, Draco simply yawned and rested his head drowsily on Charlie’s shoulder, watching the sleeping dragons below.

*

Charlie had been trying to condition Draco’s frail form with little bouts of exercise, which Draco was beginning to find easier, but he also noticed it gave him a ravenous appetite which had resulted in him putting a little bit of weight back on, and the little extra padding just hiding his hideous ribs, hips and spine. It always delighted him when Charlie made a small comment of, “Looking good,” or, “Keep it up,” as it certainly did make him want to keep it up. Even the daily reminders of the war every time he had to cover his Mark weren’t having the same effect on him they used to just weeks previously.

However, when Draco received an owl from Voldemort asking for a progress update, _in person_ , Draco had to run for the toilet before he lost his lunch over the floorboards. As welcome as Charlie’s hand on his back would have been at this point, Draco was glad he was out of the cabin as it meant Draco didn’t have to explain himself or the letter. Once he had nothing left to throw up, he cast an Incendio on the letter, wishing he could ignore it. He had been having such a good time and had been kept so busy he hadn’t had a chance to think about how he was either going to get the dragons, or come up with a way to not have to get them and come away with his life and the lives of his family. In the meantime, Draco decided his best bet was to just crawl into bed and hope he would never wake up. Much to Draco’s disappointment, he couldn’t even fall asleep, let alone never wake up, so when he heard Charlie’s voice approaching the cabin, he thought he should probably get up and put on a pot of tea.

After explaining to Charlie that he needed to go home for a few days, Charlie had agreed to let Draco go home for the weekend. He even went so far as to arrange the Portkey for him, so within less than forty-eight hours, Draco was back on British soil. He had never felt as nervous walking up the drive to the Manor as he did now, and knew that his attire of dragon hide trousers and brushed cotton shirt would most likely displease Voldemort, but at the moment, he simply didn’t care. He knew the best way to overcome nerves was to act as cocky as hell.

Upon entering the Manor, he headed straight for the ballroom, simply raising a perfectly sculptured eyebrow at the Death Eaters on the door and they opened the door for him. He fell to one knee before the Dark Lord, who he could feel assessing his attire with disgust. “I haven’t heard word from you, boy. I almost thought you had deserted the cause.” The sound of Voldemort’s voice still managed to make the bile rise at the back of Draco’s throat.

“No, my Lord...I have been busy working to gain the trust of my colleagues. I apologise.”

“I suppose I could overlook it, assuming you are nearly ready to acquire my dragons?” Draco licked his lips, stalling for time.

“Nearly, my Lord...I will need another few weeks.” In truth, he still had no idea how he would steal the dragons, regardless of how well he knew how the Reserve operated.

“Very well.” Draco could hear the distaste in Voldemort’s voice, and was sure he didn’t entirely believe his story, but if it bought him more time, he was happy.

“Thank you, my Lord.” Draco gave a bow, turned on his heels and left. Now he just had to wait for his Portkey to activate and take him back to Romania.

*

Since his trip back to Wiltshire, Draco had been unable to eat; the stress and pressure of having to either steal the dragons and betray Charlie and his new friends, or betray Voldemort and risk the death of his family was becoming too much for him to bear. It had also not gone unnoticed by Charlie, who watched every time Draco ran for the toilet and noticed how much deeper and darker the circles under Draco’s eyes were becoming. Three weeks after Draco had gone home for the weekend, his clothes were now hanging off him like they had when he first arrived in Romania.

After a particularly hard day, Draco collapsed onto the sofa, too weak to make it to his room. “Are you okay, little’un?” Charlie asked, dropping to his knees beside Draco’s prone form. Draco nodded, eyes closed, fighting back a sob when Charlie’s familiar hand began rubbing his back. “Are you sure? Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thanks. I’ll just go and have a soak in the bath in a minute.” Draco answered, moving to sit up.

“You stay put and I’ll run the bath for you.” Draco was about to protest, but Charlie had already jumped up.

Draco sat in the perfectly warmed water that smelled of thyme and lavender and wished he could enjoy it more. Charlie and the other dragon keepers had been so nice to him since he had arrived and he didn’t want to let any of them down, especially Charlie. He wasn’t able to see a way out of this one.

He must have fallen asleep in the bath, because the next thing he knew was Charlie sticking his head round the bathroom door, asking if he was okay. “You’ve been in here a while and I was beginning to think you might’ve drowned. Maybe putting a warming charm on the bath wasn’t such a good idea.” Charlie smiled.

“How long is ‘a while’?” Draco asked, resting his elbow on the edge of the bath and his head in his hand.

“An hour...” Charlie answered, his eyes drifting to Draco’s forearm. Draco saw Charlie swallow and clench his jaw, then followed Charlie’s gaze with his heart in his mouth. He quickly let his arm drop back into the water and noticed his breath quicken.

How could he have been so careless? In the warmth of the water, some of the concealer had washed away, needing no stretch of the imagination as to what lay beneath the rest. As Charlie came into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, Draco desperately wished he hadn’t left his wand in his trousers as the fingers of his right hand clenched around air and panic gripped his chest.

“Draco...calm down...I’m not going to do anything...” Charlie said with a calm voice, his hands up and fingers spread.

“Charlie...I’m...I...” Draco began, unable to find any words to explain the situation, and started to hyperventilate.

“Draco, if you don’t slow down your breathing you are going to pass out.” Charlie urged, worry evident in his voice as he made his way towards Draco.

Draco was unable to process what was happening as Charlie got closer. He was unable to slow down his breathing and as the edges of his vision began to darken, Charlie climbed over the side of the bath to straddle Draco’s knees and he took Draco’s face between his hands. “Draco...little dragon...calm down...calm...down...” Draco grabbed hold of Charlie’s muscular forearms and looked into the blue depths of Charlie’s eyes. This close up, he realised that Charlie’s apparently deep tan was actually a swathe of tiny freckles that were so tightly packed together they practically joined.

The darkened edges of his vision began to clear as his breathing returned to normal and he said, “You’re going to ruin your trousers.” Causing Charlie to chuckle and kiss Draco’s forehead.

Draco was resting his head in Charlie’s lap whilst Charlie ran his fingers through Draco’s hair. “Why didn’t you either run or hex me when you saw my Mark?” He asked quietly, too tired to open his eyes fully.

“Because I knew you had it before you even got here. It was a bit of a shock to actually see it, though.” Charlie answered, taking a swig of what he thought was a well-earned beer. Draco sat upright, eyebrow raised in question at Charlie. “Snape told me about you and why you’re here. I said I’d keep an eye on you. And no, you don’t really want to hit me, I’m too ruggedly handsome.” Charlie smirked, looking at the anger on Draco’s face out the corner of his eye. Draco had long suspected Snape was no longer loyal to Voldemort, and this had just confirmed his suspicions.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Draco’s face changed from angry to hurt, his shoulders slumped and he stole the beer from Charlie, his lip curling at the slightly bitter aftertaste, but the fact Charlie’s lips had been touching the rim of the bottle just moments before wasn’t lost to him.

“That I knew you weren’t really Draco Black, great-grandson of a Muggle baker?” Draco nodded, cheeks colouring at the knowledge his little lie had been known for what it was right from the beginning. “You didn’t need to know. All we have to do now is get Snake-features off your back.” Charlie winked, stealing back his beer.

*

Three months later and Charlie, Draco, Marcos and other dragon keepers who were also members of the Order of the Phoenix, as well as members of the Order who weren’t dragon keepers, were gearing up for the Ultimate Deception, as it had been dubbed. The night when Charlie had seen Draco’s Dark Mark, he had told Draco of his plan to get Voldemort off his back. Draco had told the Dark Lord that the Romanian Reservation was transferring six of their dragons to a Reservation in Wales before moving them onto a Reservation in Greenland, and that the staff and dragons would be unguarded and easily intercepted in flight, and even gave him a flight plan. Voldemort had been pleased with this and plans were put into action for the Death Eaters to steal the dragons.

In truth, there were only three dragons and three empty crates; the three dragons were relatively tame dragons who would always return to the Reserve in Romania in case the travel crates were damaged and the animals got loose. Draco pulled on his gloves, and breathed deeply, trying to calm his nerves. “It’ll be fine, Draco.” Charlie told him, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

The fight above Salisbury Plain had resulted in more Death Eater injuries than Order member injuries, and only one dragon had been able to escape, and none had come into the possession of the Death Eaters. Draco returned to the Manor, cursing at the other Death Eaters, moaning about their incompetence and that it didn’t matter they were outnumbered, they had been told to expect it. All the while he was internally elated that it had worked out the way it had and was running on an adrenalin rush he had never felt the heights of before. Much to his amusement and relief, Voldemort had not blamed Draco for the outcome of the fight and had instead chosen to punish the other Death Eaters.

Draco had known he wouldn’t be returning to the Reservation after the fight, so instead returned to his room, wishing he could be in Romania.

The next time Draco saw Charlie had not been under the best of circumstances. Voldemort had abandoned his quest for dragons and had instead decided to rely on the size of giants, the likes of which were currently wreaking havoc on the grounds of Hogwarts whilst a massive battle raged around them. He gave Charlie an acknowledging smile as curses flew around them. Despite the brand on his left arm, Draco was certainly not fighting for Voldemort.

In the Battle of Hogwarts, as it came to be known, many a good witch and wizard had fallen, include Professor Snape, whom Draco had looked up to for many years and had never got round to thanking for helping him. Probably the most note-worthy death was that of Voldemort, as well as many of his Death Eaters. The remaining loyal few had been rounded up and imprisoned. Only then, after the funerals of many friends and classmates, could life begin to go on, and for Draco, that meant returning to Romania.

*

Draco opened the door to the cabin he had shared with Charlie and Marcos, hoping to see Charlie cooking lunch as he often did, but found it deserted. He thought that instead of traipsing around the Reservation trying to find Charlie, he should stay put and wait for Charlie to come to him. He made himself a cup of tea then sat on the sofa and picked up a Quidditch magazine.

Draco had barely dozed off when he heard Charlie’s loud, yet delightful, laugh echo in the courtyard. Draco’s heart beat faster with anticipation, so he sat back, picked up the magazine again and tried to act like he wasn’t about to bubble over with excitement. The door opened and Charlie walked through, startling when he saw Draco. Draco glanced upwards, and feigning indifference, he merely said, “You’re back. Would you like a cup of tea?” Charlie’s gorgeous blue eyes widened and he dashed forward to scoop Draco up from the sofa.

“I’m back? You’re back...I wasn’t expecting you to come back...” Draco relaxed into the hold, wrapping his own arms around Charlie’s neck.

“I couldn’t stand being at home...so I thought I’d come back to the one place I felt safe...come back here.” Charlie gave him one last squeeze before releasing him and stepping back a fraction. Draco watched Charlie’s face and the unfamiliar look of uncertainty etched across it. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and could feel his heart beating so fast he thought it might just jump out of his chest. He wasn’t sure who instigated it, but when he felt Charlie’s lips on his own and Charlie’s hands in his hair, he was certain he felt himself melt.

“I’ve wanted this... _you_...for so long...” Charlie said hurriedly before returning his mouth hungrily to Draco’s, and Draco cradled the nape of Charlie’s neck in his hand, fingers playing with the short red hairs as he sighed contentedly. He knew his cock was rapidly hardening, sure that Charlie would be able to feel it aganst his hip. As if in reply to Draco's condition, Charlie ground his hips into Draco's, leaving no doubt in his mind that Charlie was just as hard as himself. Draco yelped when Charlie picked him up by his arse, and wrapped his legs around Charlie’s waist instinctively.

Draco was dropped gently onto his back on Charlie’s bed; the stockier redhead leaning over Draco’s prone form, breathing heavily. Draco reached to the front of Charlie’s dragon hide trousers, his fingers fumbling over the double knot in the lacings, which were under strain from containing Charlie's erection. Charlie’s hand grabbed Draco’s wrist and with a voice thick with desire, said, “We don’t have to do that now if you don’t want to...” In reply, Draco just rolled his eyes, yanked his hand free from Charlie’s and untied Charlie’s trousers.

Just being naked with Charlie was almost as good as the sex. His body was as perfect as Draco remembered it; solidly built without being too big and wrapped in silky soft skin covered with an endless number of freckles that Draco knew he would never be able count, yet would love to try. Draco had followed the outline of the dragon tattoo adorning Charlie’s back with his tongue and decided Charlie’s skin tasted amazing, ever so slightly salty with a hint of forest, wood smoke and something sweet and uniquely Charlie. Interestingly, he tasted almost exactly the same as he smelled.

Charlie kissed along Draco’s collar bone whilst rough fingers tweaked at Draco’s nipple, causing him to arch off the bed slightly. Charlie continued his path down Draco’s body, his tongue running around the edge of Draco’s navel, then down to the nest of blonde curls that framed the base of Draco’s cock.

Charlie took his time lubricating and gradually stretching Draco’s hole, and soon had Draco begging for something more than his three fingers. As Charlie pushed into Draco, Draco couldn’t help but arch up into Charlie’s body. It felt as though heat and electricity was darting through his groin, stoking a fire that had been building in his abdomen.

They kissed, the silky smooth glide of Charlie’s tongue against Draco’s echoed the rhythm of Charlie’s hips, his cock frequently brushing over Draco’s prostate. Even Charlie’s rough hand slowly and almost lazily stroking Draco’s erect penis was providing a perfect sensory overload for Draco. It didn’t take long before Draco dug his fingers into Charlie’s shoulders and his heels into Charlie’s hips, semen spilling down Charlie’s hand onto Draco’s abdomen and Charlie’s name spilling from Draco’s lips. Charlie followed soon after, littering Draco’s throat with tiny kisses, then he pulled out and laid down beside an equally breathless Draco, pulling him into his arms. “That was just...wow...” Draco managed coherently.

“Definitely, my little dragon.” Charlie agreed, brushing Draco’s hair from his face and smiled softly, capturing Draco’s lips once more with his own.

*

It had been nearly eight months since the final Battle had ended and Voldemort had been killed, nearly eight months since Draco had returned to Romania, and nearly eight months since the night Charlie had taken him into his arms then into his bed, vowing to never let him go.

Draco had never before believed in luck, only in hard work, but as he lay there in Charlie’s arms with little Cecil, the four-week-old Antipodean Opaleye they were rearing, curled up on his stomach and Voldemort dead, he thought he _might_ just have to start believing in it.


End file.
